


Petals of Ash

by drarryiscannon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, grab a few tissues maybe, oops i did it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7378297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryiscannon/pseuds/drarryiscannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's now been a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry pays a long overdue visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petals of Ash

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to apologize in advance for even writing this because OUCH.

It wasn't until a year later that Harry was able to come back. 

The Ministry had long ago given up on attempting to get Harry to be the speaker at Hogwarts today, for the memorial gala commemorating the one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry had hated the war. He would not stand there where _he _had died and glorify it. War destroyed lives, mangled children and families. All it did was tighten the chains of hatred.__

The letters from speckled tawny owls had piled up into a small mountain in front of Grimmauld Place. It had reminded him of the flood of Hogwarts letters that had bombarded the Dursley's living room so many years ago. 

But that was then. Things were much different now.

The Manor seemed almost as dead as it's previous inhabitants. It mocked Harry, giving him small glimpses of what used to be warm and breathing in his arms, he walked over to Draco's room and stopped in front of the door. Harry bit his lip, trying to not break. 

He wouldn't have wanted Harry to break.

Harry sighed and turned the ornate brass knob, pushing against the heavy oak. The gust of Draco's lingering cologne was so violent Harry almost thought about leaving, now, before it was too late-

Who has he kidding? It had always been too late for them.

He gave a trembling breath and walked inside, gingerly holding the bouquet of wisteria in his hand, trying to be gentle, Draco would have told him to quit being a lumbering oaf, Harry, for Merlin's sake, or you'll ruin those flowers. 

The fireplace was grey now. Dust covered the mantle, and even the remnants of the few remaining charred logs. The thin coating of velveteen grey cloaked the entire Manor now; Malfoy's did not tolerate dust.

But then again, the world did not tolerate Malfoy's.

Harry swiped a finger across the mantle, frowning, because Draco would have been livid and appalled by this, he wouldn't stand for such uncleanliness. It was almost funny, Draco couldn't stand dirt, but he could adore people that were; Lucius Malfoy always loved breaking things, especially his son. 

Harry wandered over to the once shining emerald velvet armchair, it was Draco's favorite. He'd be so sad to see it now, coated in the thin sheen of filth. Harry could almost see Draco now, sitting upon the fine green chair like a prince might, no, surely would.

He acted like he had all the time in the world, as if maybe, he might some day have the chance to use his father's money to buy himself some choices of his very own. Draco would smile, hold the universe together between two thin lips, clasping a crystal glass of the finest elf-made wine available in his pale hand. Harry never liked drinking with him, he learned to refuse the crystal glasses, even though he got called a right old tosser.

Wine blurred the sharp jawline and the edges of his nose, of his aristocratic cheekbones. Harry liked to be able to see Draco for all that he was, even if Draco was smitten with his pretty little lies, always at his fingertips. He always had the most beautiful hands. Harry remembered the stark look of them against his tanned chest. 

Not even Veela could compare.

Harry absentmindedly petted the petals of the wisteria. They were so fragile, and soft, yes, but not as soft as Draco's silken hair. Draco loved flowers. He said he liked them, because he liked the way flowers could still grow, even though they might have been trampled on. Draco liked their meanings even more. He thought it was elegant, the way one could carry on a conversation with a bouquet. 

Harry laid a hand upon the armchair and trembled. He set the bouquet of wisteria upon the cushion, the cushion had an indent from where Draco had sat. 

"I miss you." Harry whispered, tears winding down his face.


End file.
